No Good Deed
by Zimbabweke
Summary: Harry returns from his 6th year at Hogwarts and things go downhill much quicker than he could've ever expected. At the same time, Draco is sent away to be safe from Voldemort. Abuse, angst, and future DracoHarry. R&R, please!
1. Chapter 1

**Disclaimer:** I own... nothing. Not Harry, not Draco, not any of the characters, they all belong to JK Rowling. The only thing that belongs to me is my capybara, which may or may not be appearing.

Warnings: abuse, angst. I think that's all, so far.

SO. This is maybe my... second fic? First one on this account, and the first one I've written in... a couple years, actually. I hope it's not too bad!

Harry stepped off the Hogwarts Express, wondering when the next time would be that he saw the school that had become his home. Would it still be safe to go back? After all, Dumbledore was the only person keeping Hogwarts really safe, the only person Voldemort was really afraid of, and with Dumbledore gone and – no. Harry's grip tightened on the handle of his luggage, and he shook his head sharply to rid himself of the thought. Dumbledore wasn't dead, he refused to believe that; there had to be some way to reverse it. After all, it was _Dumbledore_, it –

"Harry!" a voice called from twenty feet away. Harry glanced up just in time to see Hermione Granger launching herself at him. Behind her, Ron took his time strolling over and Ginny followed reluctantly with somewhat of a scowl. "Oh Harry, make sure you take care of yourself this summer," Hermione was saying. "Keep safe, and if you need anything, you know how to reach me or Ron or Si –" She cut herself off. She was still so used to Harry being able to write Sirius, and she was talking without thinking first, and remembering that he had been dead for about a year now.

Harry's face instantly fell more, if that was possible. He was already dwelling on Dumbledore; Hermione had just had to remind him of his godfather too, didn't she? He could tell she knew her mistake, though, because she immediately flushed and backed off awkwardly.

"See you over the summer, I hope," Ron said, thumping Harry on the shoulder. "Take care, mate." Harry nodded. Ron began to sense the tension radiating from Ginny, and quickly said, "Well, I expect Mum's waiting for us now, c'mon Ginny…" He led her off before she could bite Harry's head off for dumping her. Hermione gave Harry a trachea-crushing hug and followed Ron.

With nobody left to say goodbye to – the platform was beginning to clear out anyway – Harry left to meet up with the Dursleys. Joyful, he thought. He didn't see them among the Muggles in the train station, so he climbed the stairs up and out onto the street. There was the familiar car, parked several spaces down; there was Uncle Vernon, honking his horn impatiently at Harry when he noticed him; there was Dudley, trying to hit unsuspecting pigeons on the sidewalk with spitballs from the open car window; and there was Aunt Petunia, looking more giraffe-like than usual, trying to wipe a speck of dust off of her precious Dudders's nice new pants.

"Well, Hedwig, looks like we aren't at Hogwarts anymore," Harry said to his owl, who hooted at him, before dragging his luggage to the car and shoving it all in the trunk with difficulty.

Most students might get a "So, dear, how was your year at school?" or a "Oh, we missed you and there's so much to tell you about our vacation to Malaysia…" when they returned from Hogwarts. Not Harry Potter. He was used to greetings such as "Your hair needs to be cut," or "Why do we ever put up with this? You'd better be grateful, boy…" This year he was met with the ever-charming "Why must you bring that ruddy owl into the car, it's going to stink up the seats. Tie it on the roof, that's what I'd do…"

"_She_ wouldn't make it home," Harry said, annoyed, letting Uncle Vernon know that (a) Hedwig was a 'she,' not an 'it,' and (b) he wasn't in the mood.

However, the Dursleys weren't known for taking hints very well. Vernon kept complaining about Hedwig, Petunia kept making comments about Harry's hair, and Dudley kept poking Harry in the most annoying and inappropriate of places. It was really wearing on his nerves.

By the time they reached Number 4 Privet Drive, Harry had had more than enough. He grabbed his bags, slammed the car door (with a "HEY, watch it, boy" from Vernon), and stormed inside and upstairs with a huff. Hedwig's cage he put down carefully; the rest of his belongings he shoved across the room. They slammed against the wall and fell into a heap. Harry then flung himself backwards onto his bed, where he laid for quite some time with an arm pressed across his eyes.

When he opened his eyes again, it was dark outside. 'Must've fallen asleep,' he thought. He was about to roll over and look at the clock, but he heard the grandfather clock downstairs begin to chime off a new hour. It was nine o'clock. Harry sighed. So he'd missed dinner. The Dursleys ate at 7:30 every night, and if you weren't ready to eat, you didn't get to. If you were Harry, that is. Petunia and Vernon would put off dinner for several hours if their Duddle-lumpkins wasn't ready. He usually was, though; the kid liked to eat.

Harry pulled himself out of bed to let Hedwig, who had been hooting at him and ruffling her feathers, which meant something close to "_Oi_, you're not the only one who hasn't eaten tonight, y'know." After patting her on the head to assure her he hadn't forgotten, he opened his bedroom window so she could go hunting. She hooted gratefully and took off.

Harry then noticed his luggage still sitting in a heap on the floor, and his inner neat-freak decided to take over and clean up the mess, carefully stowing his wand and books under several loose boards in the floor. He was going to put away his robes as well, but when his stomach grumbled and threatened to tie itself in a knot, he decided to see if there was any food left over from supper.

As he went downstairs, avoiding the squeaky parts of the stairs to try not to make too much noise, he saw the whole of the Dursley family exactly where they should be: planted in front of the TV. Vernon was watching some American football, Dudley was whining about something involving "Not enough! Five and a half scoops of ice cream is NOT ENOUGH, I want at least SEVEN!", and Petunia was trying fruitlessly to calm her son. The whole diet idea for Dudley had died long ago; after Dudley came home day after day with at least twenty Twinkie-like substances and other feeble imposters of food, Vernon and Petunia had dubbed dieting an utter waste of their time.

Harry made it down the stairs without a problem, but as he crept past the living room, Vernon's head popped up.

"Where do you think you're going, boy?"

"Leftovers," Harry replied nonchalantly, continuing to walk to the kitchen.

Vernon's normally ruddy face turned a different shade of red. He stood up from the couch and stamped out into the hall. No one had ever quite figured out why, but Vernon hated one-word responses to his questions. "Show some respect, boy!" he barked at Harry, preparing to launch into his favorite lecture about how he and his family had been kind enough to take Harry in as a baby, caring enough to raise him and feed him and send him to school, and outrageously generous enough to let him go to Hogwarts. "For sixteen years, this family has raised you and fed you and clothed you and sent you to school, and what do we get back? Disrespect and delinquency! Unacceptable!"

"Eating dinner counts as delinquency now?" Harry asked, calmly shifting the contents in the fridge. He was hungry, he was tired, he was certainly far from the happiest he'd ever been, and he didn't feel like paying his… _family_ … any more attention than he had to.

Vernon's face turned even redder (some might even argue that it was purple), and he reached down to slam the refrigerator door on Harry, who removed his head and hand just in time. "We ate dinner hours ago. If you missed it, that's your fault. And _don't talk back to me boy_," he blubbered madly.

That, of course, put Harry in the mood for talking back. "D'you realize you always add 'boy' to the end of your sentences whenever you're talking to me?" he pointed out, as the telephone started ringing.

Harry, unfortunately, thought about the consequences to his actions just about as often as the Dursleys could take a hint – that is to say, hardly ever. Vernon had had enough; in a split second, he had shot out a pudgy hand and caught Harry by the throat, pinning him against the refrigerator, a twisted look on his face. "You _ungrateful_ little –"

"Vernon, dear," Petunia sang from the living room. "Your mother's on the phone."

"Tell her I'll call her back," her husband replied.

"She, er, says it's urgent."

Vernon huffed and released Harry to take the phone, but not before leaning in so far that he was nose to nose with his nephew to growl at him, "I'll deal with you later."

Harry's hand reached up to feel his throat as he coughed and stared after his uncle. He'd known Vernon to be volatile – irrationally so – but not to actually be a threat. He could have sworn he smelled beer on his uncle's breath, though. That wasn't good. He'd never seen Vernon drink any more than an occasional glass of wine with dinner: Petunia made sure he didn't have too much to drink because his entire family had a history of alcoholism. That obviously didn't matter to Petunia now, since sometime between the late afternoon and 9:00, her husband had gotten as drunk as a skunk.

Harry had no idea what Vernon was going to do to 'deal with' him, but he sure wasn't liking the sound of it. Making sure Vernon was still on the phone, Harry dashed upstairs to his room, where he found Hedwig perched on his bedpost, waiting for him.

"That was a short hunt, girl," he said, picking her up and stroking her feathers. She hooted at him. "Listen, I'm going to send you off to Ron's for a little while, okay?" As much as he wasn't as close to his friends at the moment as he normally was, Harry didn't want anything to happen to his owl. Better safe than sorry. Hedwig hooted again at him, confused this time. He grabbed a pen and a piece of paper and scribbled a short note:

Ron –

Everything's fine, just wanted to send Hedwig off until a few things with the Dursleys blow over. Nothing to worry about.

-Harry

Harry tied the note to Hedwig's leg, and she hooted once more, nibbled on his hair affectionately, and took off.

Just in time, too, because not a minute later, Harry heard his uncle pounding up the stairs. There was a bang at his door, and then Vernon burst into his room. Harry jumped a little and spun around as the door slammed back against the wall. Before he had a chance to react further, Vernon was upon him, yelling various obscenities at him, practically spitting in his face he was so close. Harry couldn't actually make out any sentences because Vernon was more blubbering more than actually talking. He caught a couple words like 'authority,' 'fool,' and 'ungrateful filth.'

And then he felt a hand collide with his face. Vernon shoved him against the wall so hard that he stumbled and his head snapped back, hitting the corner of the windowsill; Harry saw stars for a moment.

If only he could reach his wand… it was still under the floorboard. Several times, he had been able to do magic without a wand, but not on purpose. Although even if he _could_ reach his wand, he'd be taking a chance. Even though it was highly unlikely that he would return to Hogwarts next year, it was still against the law for an underage witch or wizard to practice magic outside of school in the Muggle world. Maybe if he was being attacked by a dementor or something as dangerous, but certainly not for getting mad at his uncle. Although he didn't get in trouble for sending Aunt Marge floating away with the clouds… but still, that was an accident, and Harry wanted as little to do with the wizarding courts as possible. Caught up in his thoughts, he was taken by surprise by one of Vernon's fists sailing into his stomach. He doubled over, coughing.

When he got his breath back, he threw caution to the winds and began to dart between Vernon's legs to reach the floorboard and his wand. He didn't know what the Ministry of Magic would do, and he decided he didn't really care. However, he didn't get very far. His uncle caught him by his hair and the back of his shirt and threw him back against the wall again.

"Where do you think you're going?" Vernon growled. Harry's eyes widened slightly as he watched his uncle move to take off his belt, and he quickly tried to move out of the way, but a swift shoe caught him in the stomach. Vernon raised the strip of leather, and Harry squeezed his eyes shut to prepare himself for the blow. He felt the sting of the belt across his back, which quickly turned into a throbbing pain, followed by the metal buckle that whipped around and hit him square on the shoulder. Harry flinched, but refused to cry out, instead kicking out at Vernon's shins. Too slowly. Vernon grabbed him by the ankle and lifted him into the air and flipped him over onto his back. All the air in his lungs escaped him as he landed with a loud thud on the wooden floor. Vernon's hands were then around his neck, cutting off his air supply. Harry choked and sputtered, trying to twist out of his uncle's vice grip on his throat. Vernon was like a pit bull, however, and he held on. Harry's vision began to go black, starting from the edges. He was disoriented from lack of oxygen, but he felt his head slam back against the floor as Vernon shook him. Then everything went completely black, and he passed out.

-->end chapter 1 -->

So, there it is. ) I don't know exactly why I wrote it; I guess a plotbunny decided to whack me on the head with a skillet while I was on vacation in New Hampshire.

The capybara says, "PLEASE REVIEW!" That little blueish-purple button is an author's best friend! Flames are okay, I guess, just please make them constructive and about the writing style. None of those ones where you tell me "Omggggzzz this iz so stewpiddddd" and then... don't tell me why. Thanks!


	2. Chapter 2

**Dislaimer:** I own none of this! Except for maybe the house elf in the first sentence.

Warnings: Er, none for this chapter, actually.

You know, I realized that in the summary I said that 'meanwhile, Draco gets sent to London,' and then only posted the first chapter, where there is no Draco. Er... sweatdrop HENCE, the second chapter, with the Draco.

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"This cannot be happening to ME," the boy cried, kicking at an innocent house elf that happened to be passing by. It squeaked and scurried off.

"I understand you're upset…" his mother tried.

"No! No, you don't! I come home, and then I'm kicked out? Why? I did the task as best I could. I had him, I did! Severus interfered, it wasn't _my fault_! I was about to kill him!" The boy's voice could be heard throughout nearly the entire mansion, he was bellowing so loudly.

His mother sighed, exasperated. She'd been fighting with her son over this for the entire day. "The Dark Lord knows exactly what happened, Draco, that's what I'm trying to tell you."

"I don't care, because I don't want to serve him anyway!"

Narcissa, his mother, paled. "Don't _say_ that!" she snapped. "Listen. If you stay, you put yourself as well as your entire family in danger. Would you really want anything to happen to your mother?" Draco pressed his lips together and said nothing. Narcissa sighed again. "I wish you would just agree so we can stop fighting about this. I have things to do."

Draco glared. "Well, ex_cuse me_ if I don't feel like going without magic into the Muggle world. Hell, I wouldn't feel like going _with_ magic into the Muggle world! Ech." He made a face. "Where would I go? Who would I stay with? What if I end up living on the streets, or with some _Mudblood_? And why _can't_ I go with magic?"

"Because it'll make you harder to track," his mother replied. "The Dark Lord won't think of looking in London for a kid living by himself with no magic. I'll be taking your wand and keeping it safe at Gringotts. We've rented an apartment for you here." She handed him a slip of paper with a small map and an address on it, and a key. "All you have to go is find a job to pay the rent every month."

"_All I have to do_!" Draco exclaimed.

"If things begin to get worse than they already are, and we aren't able to send you money, I want to know that you've got a job and can make some to support yourself. Besides, we would have to exchange the money, because Muggles don't take Galleons."

Draco grumbled. He'd never had to work a day in his life. He'd never even had to cook or clean for himself, let alone work at a _job_. And he hadn't planned on starting anytime soon. But then again, there was a lot he hadn't planned for. "Isn't there anyone I could stay with?" he asked hopefully, trying to find a way out of getting a job.

Narcissa, however, shook her head. "Not without putting them in danger," she said. "And there aren't as many wizarding families living in the Muggle world. A fair amount of Mudbloods," – Draco made a face – "but none of us want that."

"Why not a wizarding family in, you know, the _wizarding_ world?"

"Draco," Narcissa snapped, "we're trying to keep you _safe_ from the _Dark Lord_, not send you on vacation. Just deal with it, okay?"

He grumbled and flopped down on a couch, arms crossed. "It's not _my_ fault Severus butted in."

"Yes, it is. And I wish you would stop acting like a child. If your father was here, he wouldn't stand for this."

"Yeah, well, he isn't here, is he!" Draco cried.

"Draco…" his mother warned. He hrumphed.

"Thanks a lot for your support," he muttered moodily. He was about to go stomping out of the parlor and find some more house elves to pick on to lift his mood a little, but then he remembered something. "…He said he'd kill my entire family. You're sending _me_ off, but what about _you_? What about Father?"

Narcissa gave him a wry smile. "We're working on it."

-->end chapter 2 -->

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Capybara: "Review! Review! Review!"

How Am I Writing: call 1-800-555-5555. Please let me know if I should keep going with this.


	3. Chapter 3

**Disclaimer:** Still, none of this is mine. Including The Price Is Right (nn; ).

Warnings: Er, abuse and angst. Again. It's a Harry chapter, what do you expect? -sweatdrop-

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Harry awoke with a groan and opened his eyes. He was struck by a brief wave of panic as he saw only pitch black. That passed, however, when a small square of light caught his vision. As his eyes adjusted, he realized he was in the cupboard under the stairs, his old home. He sat up abruptly, and clapped a hand to his head. He had the mother of all headaches, and his shoulder hurt from being struck with the belt buckle. It certainly didn't help that the ceiling of the cupboard was quite low, and if he had sat up any straighter than he did, he would've hit his head on it.

When the pain in his brain receded a little, and turned into more of a dull throb than a sharp stabbing, Harry looked at his watch. About thirteen hours had passed since the episode with Vernon, he saw. It was nearly ten thirty in the morning the next day. Harry assumed it was a mixture between being beaten and knocked out and just being tired to begin with that had made him sleep so long. He yawned and stretched his arms out in front of him, with not nearly enough room to stretch them above his head, and felt something shift around his neck.

Feeling around his throat, Harry realized there was some kind of metal chain necklace fastened around his neck. It was rather heavy, and rather short, like a choker, with two metal rings attached to it. He tried to find a clasp to take it off, but couldn't feel one. He tried to lift it over his head, but it was too short; it didn't even make it over his chin. Vernon must have put it on him, before he stuck him in the cupboard. Harry didn't know how, though, because if there was no way to get it off, how was there a way to put it on?

Crawling over to the door, Harry turned the knob and pushed. It didn't open. Moving back a little, he slammed against it, and it creaked open. He had forgotten that the summer humidity often made the door stick. As he stood up, feeling achy, leaving the cupboard door open, he saw Petunia seated on the couch in the room across the hall, watching an episode of her favorite American show, The Price Is Right. She looked back at him.

"He's awake," she called into the next room, no doubt to Vernon.

Harry turned and started up the stairs as hastily as he could. Vernon was not someone he wanted to deal with. Not after last night. Much to his dismay, he saw both Vernon _and_ Dudley rounding the corner into the hall, the younger and latter of the two with his Smelting stick clutched in his hand. Harry picked up his pace on the stairs and reached his room. Just as he was about to slam and lock the door, however, Vernon barged in, his son right behind him.

"Boy!" he barked. "Come here!"

Harry did just the opposite, backing away until he reached the window on the other side of the room. Vernon nodded to Dudley, and the two slowly closed in on Harry. Harry tried to make a dash for the door as they drew closer, but Dudley stuck out his Smelting stick to trip him. As he crashed to the floor, Dudley sat on top of him, pinning him to the ground. Harry's ribs felt like they were about to snap into pieces, and he could hardly breathe. He tried to buck the heavier boy off of him, but to no avail. He was so preoccupied with Dudley that he didn't notice Vernon approaching, taking three or four things out of his pockets. When Harry did notice, however, he saw a strip of material that resembled a dog leash, two gold rings, and something else that he didn't recognize.

Harry was quite helpless as Vernon clipped one end of the leash onto the chocker Harry was wearing. Vernon then nodded again to Dudley, who changed position on Harry. He was now sprawled on his back, Dudley sitting on his thighs, pinning his shoulders down with his hands. Harry bucked and thrashed some more, but the only thing that got him was several smirks from his cousin. He watched with dawning horror as he realized what else Vernon was holding. It was a piercing gun, like those you see at jewelry stores. Vernon took one of the small gold rings and inserted it into the gun. Harry frantically tried to twist around in Dudley's grip; he didn't know what Vernon was planning to pierce, but he knew he didn't want any bit of metal through any part of his skin.

Vernon reached down, grabbed the bottom of Harry's shirt, and pulled it up, exposing his chest. Harry's stomach twisted itself into a knot. He knew what his uncle wanted to pierce now. Piercing gun in hand, Vernon grabbed one of Harry's nipples and pulled it up roughly, causing the boy to gasp. Without a word, he positioned the gun and pierced it. Harry squeezed his eyes shut, and bit his lip so hard to keep from screaming that he drew blood, but he couldn't stop himself from groaning. Vernon hadn't even iced it first to numb it. Before he could recover, Vernon pierced the other nipple as well. Harry let out a loud whimper and felt tears well up behind his eyelids.

A third nod to Dudley, and he got up off of Harry, who had long since lost feeling in his legs from his overweight cousin sitting on them. He immediately began to stand, but Vernon picked up the leash from the floor and yanked hard on it. Harry felt his choker become tighter around his neck, choking him briefly. He coughed and reached a hand up to his neck.

"On your hands and knees unless told otherwise," came the barking command. Harry coughed again and began to sit down instead. He got another sharp yank. "Hands and knees!" It was like a choke collar for a dog, he realized with horror as he complied and got up on all fours, watching his uncle in disbelief. "Come!" Vernon began to walk out with Dudley, and when the collar began to get tighter and tighter, Harry had no choice but to follow after them.

The hardwood floors really did a number on his hands and knees. Being made to crawl around the house was humiliating enough, never mind being collared and leashed. Harry blinked back tears as he was lead down the upstairs hall. What had he done to deserve this? He had just gotten home from school yesterday, and in the course of one day, things had become worse than ever. He missed Hogwarts more than ever. He wished he hadn't sent Hedwig off with a note saying everything was okay. He desperately wanted Ron or Hermione to show up at his doorstep and help him out, but he told them he was fine… and besides, he hadn't exactly been the nicest when they left the train station. Now that he thought back on it, he had been somewhat of a jerk.

Maybe some higher power had seen this and decided to punish him. That was the only explanation he could think of.

As they reached the stairs, Harry wanted to stand to walk down because he was afraid he would fall trying to crawl, but he didn't want to be yanked on again. If Vernon pulled the leash hard enough in the right direction, he could send Harry flying down the stairs. Harry decided to take his chances with crawling. He stumbled a couple of times, but managed to catch himself before he fell and got strangled.

Vernon led him into the kitchen, where Petunia was preparing a brunch of omelet and French toast. Dudley began whining about how _healthy_ that was, and how he would much rather be eating a Twinkie, and Petunia assured him he could have as many Twinkies as he wanted afterwards. Harry was taken over to the corner of the table by Vernon's seat.

"Sit," he commanded. When Harry hesitated and then refused, he pulled the leash up farther and farther, cutting off the boy's air supply more and more. After letting him clutch at his throat for a good twenty seconds, Vernon let the leash go slack again. "When I say 'sit,' you _sit_!" he snapped. Harry only wheezed in response. He continued, "When I say 'Jump,' you say 'How high?' When I say 'Run,' you say 'How far?' Got that? …No, change that. When I say run, you run. You don't say anything. In fact, you don't speak unless asked a direct question, and you do _not_ pull any funny business! Understand?" He yanked on the leash once more to get his point across. Harry nodded as frantically as a bobblehead doll, and coughed several more times. "Now _sit_!" Harry sat. Vernon gave a grunt, seemingly satisfied enough, and tied Harry's leash securely to the table leg.

At this point, Petunia had put out two plates on the table, and the three Dursleys served themselves. Harry sat on the floor, unmoving, stomach growling. He felt like crying, and the more he thought about it, the closer he came to it. He realized with a sinking feeling in his stomach that his wand was still under the floor boards of his room. On this leash, there was no chance of getting it; and without it, he couldn't do any magic – not on purpose, anyway; and without magic, he didn't see any way of getting himself out of this mess without getting strangled in the process. And dying in the process would ultimately defeat the purpose of trying to escape in the first place. He sighed loudly, ignoring the glare he got from Vernon, and shifted his weight on the floor to try to keep his legs from falling asleep again.

Towards the end of the meal, Harry was slightly startled by a hand suddenly hanging down in front of his face; it was Vernon's, and it held a small piece of French toast. "Eat it," he heard. He stared at it, then reached up to take it. He received a sharp backhand. "No hands." Harry stared at it once more. There was no way he was going to be fed. He kept his mouth shut and looked down at the floor. Another backhand to the same spot, and he could taste blood in his mouth. He blinked back tears from the pain.

"_Eat it_," Vernon commanded again.

Harry still refused. He was hungry, his stomach was rumbling, but he wasn't about to humiliate himself more than he had to. Vernon huffed and muttered something foul under his breath. He reached down and squeezed Harry's cheeks together with one hand to make him open his mouth, then forced the piece of toast in with the other. He held Harry's mouth closed until he swallowed.

"I've yet to break you, boy," Vernon grunted, and turned back to the table. Harry remained sitting on the floor, again on the verge of tears. For his entire life, he hadn't cried very much. He got mad a lot, but he hardly ever felt like breaking down and crying. Humiliation was never something he had to really worry about before, and now he didn't know how to deal with it.

And so he didn't deal with it. He sat on the floor by the table, near his uncle's feet, and cried.

-->end chapter 3 -->

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Alright. That's as much of this as I've got so far (well, I'm working on the fourth chapter, but who knows when that'll be done. P; ). Should I post the fourth chapter? Only YOU can tell! (DUN DUN DUN). Please, R&R! Or at least do the reading part of r&ring. Suggestions, comments are helpful... flames, I suppose, are alright too. (I think most of that is from one flame I got from a story I posted on an old account... it was actually really hilarious, even though it was meant to be insulting. Really, I'm hard to insult. Try me. nn;; )

Ja, mata ne!


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